


Sappy, Ooey-Gooey Feelings

by JustJym



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Multiple Positions, Rough Sex, lots and lots of lube, no foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJym/pseuds/JustJym
Summary: Charles and Pickles share an intimate moment together.





	Sappy, Ooey-Gooey Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> I found this story hiding on my computer. I'd forgotten all about it. I edited it and decided to post it. Also contains a personal headcanon about Pickles real name.

Charles sat propped up against the headboard, Pickles in his lap, rocking his hips sensually from side-to-side. Charles kept his hands settled on the pale waist, Pickles arms wrapped around his neck, their eyes locked. The redhead smiled devilishly, noticing Charles blown pupils trace over every inch of his body, landing on their cocks brushing together. Pickles bit his lip and asked, “Likin' whatcha see, Charlie?”

All Charles could do was groan at the sight of his redheaded lover, wanting to get further between his legs and making him scream his name. “You look so good,” Charles huffed, trying to keep his self-control.

“Just 'good?'” Pickles quipped, his toothy grin spreading, pressing his hips harder downward to generate more friction between himself and Charles.

“No,” Charles groaned, overtaken by the stimulation. “Better.” He managed to get turn the tables and push forward, shoving Pickles onto his back, pressing crushing kisses against his pale neck. After savoring the sharp hiss after biting his neck, Charles continued, “Fucking perfect.”

“Charlie,” Pickles stated, “Yer soundin' a little weirder than yer normal synthetic crap. It's not brutal.”

Charles pulled away from the drummer's neck, gazing into his eyes, a firm stare locking into place. Pickles' smile faded when he saw the seriousness in Charles' eyes. Charles saw nothing but perfection in the redhead, even if he had to dig behind all of his alcohol and drug addictions, his grudges and self-promotion and pigheadedness. While the band had become his top priority, Pickles had become his world, his driving force; the real reason to get out of bed in the morning.

“I'm sorry if it's not, uh, 'brutal' enough for you,” Charles said sincerely, hoping his tone was conveying his message. “But you really are perfect to me.”

Pickles scoffed, mostly at himself for poking fun at Charles and getting a serious response. Charles took so much care of him when he needed him. If he drank to much, the manager would roll him onto his side as to not choke in his sleep on his own vomit. Or if he had just a few too many drugs in his system, Charles would have his stomach pumped. The man cared so much for him and he never once took credit or flaunted his good deeds. He did them for Pickles' sake and that was all that mattered to him. It made the drummer recall what he could about his life, and how Charles seemed to be the only one who truly cared for his well-being.

He wrapped his arms around the brunet's neck, pulling him in closer, pressing their foreheads together. He refused to make eye contact, as he was starting to tear up. “Fuckin' asshole,” Pickles cursed him, face turning hot with embarrassment. “Makin' me get all emotional an' shit.”

Charles raised a hand, thumb stroking Pickles' cheek, just under his eye before a tear had the chance to fall. Green eyes met his own muddy ones, causing him to smile lovingly. Charles leaned down and kissed the smaller man wholeheartedly, wanting to try and calm Pickles' emotions down with desire. Pickles hated getting those sappy, ooey-gooey feelings, and he knew this, but sometimes he liked it when he struck that soft spot behind just a hard shell.

“Dillon,” Charles whispered against his ear, reciting a name he was rarely permitted to use, “I love you.”

“Dammit, Charlie!” Pickles snapped, shoving the manager onto his back, the redhead climbing on top and straddling his waist. “Stop with that shit. I get it. Can we get back ta where we were?”

Charles chuckled and rubbed up and down Pickles' sides, “Alright, alright.”

Pickles reached behind him, grabbing at the brunet's cock, stroking it back to life after it fell to half mast during their heart-to-heart. It didn't take long, Charles' need for the redhead making him stiff within a few seconds. Leaning back on his haunches, Pickles grabbed a plastic bottle from Charles' nightstand and popped the top. After adjusting his position on the manager's lap, the proud cock now in front of his own, he poured the cool liquid on to it. He soaked the brunet's cock in the lubricant, using his free hand to spread it around liberally. He kept pouring the lube until it began pooling on his balls, which he also smeared until every inch of Charles' genitals were sopping wet, the tip of his cock dripping with pre-cum and slick.

Charles propped himself up onto his elbows, enjoying the show as well as the sensation of being fondled by callused hands. Pickles kept spreading the lubricant until Charles thighs and belly looked like he'd been dipped in oil. The drummer shifted again, slipping Charles cock between his ass cheeks, bending over to squeeze out more slick over were they would soon join. Pickles rolled his hips up and down against the hard prick, keeping his gaze locked on the man below him. A curtain of orange and red surrounded their faces, thin strips of light peering between the dreds, illuminating everything they wanted to see.

Charles hands found freckled cheeks and pushed and pulled, pressed and separated them, thrusting his own hips, his cock rubbing against a hot, begging hole. The redhead chewed on his lip as he kept grinding their bodies together, sliding around like he was on a slip 'n slide. “C'mon, Charlie,” Pickles groaned as he began taking quick pecks of his lips, teeth nibbling when he could get a bite. “Fit that fat cock in me.”

“But I haven't...” Charles started, but was interrupted by a firm kiss planted on his lips, a tongue invading and assaulting his mouth.

“It's fine, Charlie,” Pickles assured, “Jest pop it in an' fuck me.”

Charles reached as far as he could, grabbing his slippery cock and holding it to the redhead's hole, trying in vain to push it inside. Every attempt failed, which annoyed the drummer, resulting in him moving until he planted his feet, squatting over the manager's cock, lining it up and sitting down on it. His eyes rolled back into his skull as his body accommodated his lover's cock, splitting and tearing its way through his tight cavern; and he fucking loved it.

Once he bottomed out, he replaced himself on his knees, hands rooting into Charles chest, already starting to bounce his hips. His slick hands prevented him from holding himself up making him frustrated that he couldn't get their party started. Charles realized his frustration and pushed himself up into a sitting position, holding Pickles close to his body. The manager dominated the younger man, shoving him against the headboard, the drummer's legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

Charles made sure he was planted firmly on his knees, as well as his hands having a tight hold on the redhead, before pulling on his hips and thrusting forward, threatening to break their hips. Pickles gasped at the sudden movement and tightened his grip around his man's neck as his ass was beginning to be torn apart. “Fuck,” Pickles huffed, “Fuck, Charlie! C'mon! God, yes! Fuck!”

The song Pickles sang for him fueled his fire, causing him to thrust harder and faster, shoving him further into the wall, ready to break through if he could. Nails dug into his back and shoulders, teeth chewed on his neck, and his cock was squeezed by the most holy of grounds. Charles felt as if he'd died and gone to heaven, unable to contain his enthusiasm as he continued to pound his sweet hole. Pickles begged and screamed, desperate for more, harder and deeper and faster. The brunet was more than happy to oblige his redhead, burying his nose into cinnamon scented hair.

He'd tell the drummer to stop eating so many cinnamon buns, it was bad for his health. But it made him smell so good that Charles was convinced that Pickles was becoming bad for his own. He was relentless in his pleasuring, drowning in those intoxicating moans and whines, wishing he could die to the sweet music the redhead sang for him.

Charles pulled Pickles away from the wall, turning around and slamming him onto the bed. He held himself up, the drummer resting his hands on the brunet's waist, going on for the ride. Charles was able to get more leverage in his pounding, pulling out further and thrusting in harder, Pickles squirming and mewling beneath him. He felt the redhead's cock pressing against his belly, sliding this way and that from all the lube that had been spread across his skin. The way his balls slapped freckled skin, and how his cock slid inside so easily was quickly pushing him over the edge.

“Charlie, fuck,” Pickles sputtered out, reaching down and grabbing his neglected cock. “I'm fixin' to bust. I need you.”

Leaning upward, the manager grabbed Pickles hips and began thrusting mercilessly, pushing them further to the edge, ready to plummet to the bottom. “God, yes! Fuck me!” Pickles screamed and he tugged his cock to completion. “Motherfucker!”

Six hot shots of cum spurted all over his and Charles' body, mixing with the slick on his belly. “Fuck,” Charles groaned very uncharacteristically, in awe of Pickles' glorious display. The orgasm tightening the redhead's canal, squeezing the manager's cock in all the right places, Pickles having pulled him over the ledge of the cliff. A final thrust and cum filled Pickles' bowels, his toes curling and legs pulling Charles closer.

The brunet collapsed on top of him, trying not to crush him, and rolled onto his side. Both tried in vain to catch their breaths, but it was taking longer than either would have liked it to. After a few minutes, they were finally able to breathe, Pickles turned over and wrapped and arm around Charles' chest. “Charlie,” he said softly, “Don't do anymore of that mushy crap, okay?”

Charles chuckled and pulled the redhead closer, kissing his temple. “I only do it because I love you,” he replied.

Pickles punched him hard in the shoulder, having just warned him, Charles taking it in stride. He laughed it off as he held the drummer closer, kissing him again. It was the little things that made him love Pickles. The way he snored with his mouth open, or how he had no self-respect after a long nights drink. When he's getting high despite Charles discretion, and keeping things to himself until he finally breaks and opens up to him. How he loved to break his lamps when he was angry or when he'd burn of some steam on his guitar. Charles loved how he valued his pride and broke down in shame. This man was his, willingly giving himself away, to be claimed and dominated, to claim and dominate. 

He would live for this man.

He would die for this man.

He would kill for this man.

But not just any man. A drummer named Pickles.

**Author's Note:**

> I accept all suggestions and requests, but that doesn't mean they all will be done.
> 
> just-jym@tumblr.com


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